


The Space Between Her Ears

by Porkchop_Sandwiches



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 05, Slice of Life, challenge: Blue Christmeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porkchop_Sandwiches/pseuds/Porkchop_Sandwiches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d been staring idly inside the hall closet earlier in the afternoon when Hank and Steve had to run out—“It’s only for a couple of hours, babe,” Hank had said though with much less enthusiasm than normal—and she was left with her brother-in-law’s former meth peddling partner.</p><p>Marie and Jesse spend an afternoon together. Set shortly after Season 5: Ep. 12 “Rabid Dog.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between Her Ears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salon_Kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salon_Kitty/gifts).



Marie had never been the biggest fan of Mexican food. But, she sincerely doubted she could ever stomach even the sight of another deep-fried gordita or sizzling carne asada fajita-special after that awful sit-down with Skyler and Walt at Gardun͂os. For god’s sake, she might have to insist Hank stop making his famous margaritas entirely.

Pressing her fingertips against her temples, she balanced her elbows on the lip of her kitchen counter and tried visualizing her brain as a large bowl of pudding. It was an exercise Dave insisted she at least attempt whenever she felt herself becoming…agitated. Apparently the image was supposed to be warm and soothing. All it really did was remind her of saturated fats and hydrogenated oils and the rest of the crap the FDA liked to stock inside America’s pantries.

Her pantry was tidy, organized, _some_ would say to a slightly severe degree. She may have arranged Hank’s collection of Dorito chips color-coordinated according to the ROY-G-BIV spectrum of the rainbow.

On the other hand, her hall closet was a bit of a mess. It was where she used to hide her receipt-free “purchases” from Hank behind the winter coats they hardly wore and boxes of holiday decorations and gifts that didn’t go over too well. She’d been staring idly inside the thing earlier in the afternoon when Hank and Steve had to run out—“It’s only for a couple of hours, babe,” Hank had said though with much less enthusiasm than normal—and she was left with her brother-in-law’s former meth peddling partner. She’d heard maybe a handful of words out of him before he shut himself off in the guest bedroom, and pretending he was Flynn in one of his brooding moods gave her a strange sliver of peace.

“Yo, can I…help with something?”

Marie knocked her funny bone into the sharp edge of the counter and nearly jumped clean out of her purple slippers.

“ _Shit_ ,” she said, clutching at her arm like she could stop the inner vibrations shooting up all the way up her wrist.

He backed up a few steps. “Sorry. I’ll just go”—

“You’re _fine_.”

Marie didn’t mean to sound so terse, flashing him a tight smile that he returned with a hollow sort of look to his eyes that could give someone bad dreams. She turned back to the dusty discovery she unearthed between a tacky Frosty the Snowman lawn ornament and a pair of lavender rain boots she had never had need for but didn’t have the heart to throw out. It was a sushi maker given to her as an anniversary present from a co-worker from ages ago. Marie had forgotten it existed. Digging the lip of the box open and taking the contraption out reminded her of showing off her Easy Back Oven whenever she was allowed to bring a friend home from school. She couldn’t remember the last time Hank and her entertained company who weren’t involved nor related to those involved in the selling of highly addictive and illegal narcotics.  

Marie refilled her wine glass to a respectable level. It was a Trader Joe’s brand Cabernet Sauvignon. She had no guilt. “How do you feel about raw fish?”

“I’m not really…hungry,” he said.

His shoulders were slumped forward—terrible posture—and his face was red and blotchy enough to convince her he was taking…something even though Hank had assured her that he’d personally patted him down.

“I guess it’s still a little early for dinner.” A quarter after five was a perfectly sensible time to sit down for a meal. “Would you like some wine?”

She wanted to take it back the second she asked. It felt very intimate and a little racy, like she was some sort of housewife seducing a younger man while her husband was away. Marie could tell even through the bloodshot eyes and lethargic gate that he was handsome. Well, if you were into that whole unkempt, buzz-cut, bony-guy look. She never saw the appeal in dating someone who’s t-shirts she couldn’t curl up into on a Sunday morning with homemade oatmeal and fresh fruit and sleepy, morning chitchat.

He shook his head anyway.

“Help me fold some laundry?”

She didn’t exactly wait for him to respond before she stepped around him, purposefully leaving her wine, but she could hear him follow along. He didn’t pick up his feet up when he walked. The friction of his socks against the carpet actually passed a tiny static shock between them when she lugged a haul of towels and sheets between his arms. It wasn’t a big deal though her expression might have said otherwise because he apologized under his breath.

Marie ignored it and started to sort washcloths, using the couch to stack bathmats and using him for the extra set of hands for linens and the larger bath towels. He didn’t talk, more so a human clothesline than anything else.

“Do you have any hobbies?”

In the process of almost dropping her favorite silk, magenta pillow sham, she wondered if people like him counted getting high as a hobby.    

“I used to draw,” he said. He seemed to really deliberate over something, somehow appearing pensive and blank simultaneously. “I like playing video games. Sometimes…I stop by this go-cart track. You...uh, got any hobbies?”

She questioned if people like her who were more candid counted petty theft as a hobby.

She shrugged. “I work mostly. I’m a radiologic technician. But, I try to read when I get the chance. Who has the time though?”

Marie got a hint of a nod out of that braindead contribution to their conversation. Did she really think this twenty-something-year-old meth head did much reading outside of those little tutorials that popped up on his games system before the car chasing or zombie shooting started? She wasn’t even sure if people actually read those things.

“I was sort of pretty big into Stephen King when I was in high school,” he said, lifting his chin in the direction of her bookshelf. “Not just like the horror stuff either, like you know the shit everybody reads. _Different Seasons_ was probably like my favorite.”

Marie only caught pieces of the confession tape while Hank was checking on the quality of the footage. But she knew enough to find it a little ironic that Jesse was drawn to a novella collection that included a very disturbing, homoerotic, violent relationship between a young boy and an older homicidal asshole. There was also the one about children compelled into searching for a dead body. Then the obvious escaping from prison story. Was he trying to tell her something?

She mustered up a strained smile. “I can’t say I’ve read that one.”

\---

Marie spent approximately forty-five seconds leafing through the instructions for the sushi maker before she called it quits. Pulling out her nonstick frying pan, she supposed teriyaki chicken stir-fry would have to do. It was still in the same region of cuisine she was aiming for anyway.

And hardly half an hour later, everything was chopped, cooked, and divvied out into healthy portion sizes.

“I hope you’re okay with brown rice.”

She handed Jesse his bowl and a bit shamefully wished she’d set a towel or picnic blanket or tarp down before he decided to sit on her very white zebra-print armchair. Soy sauce was always a tough one to get out. Opting to give him a fork over chopsticks would most likely prove to be a wise choice.

Jesse held the bowl with one hand, chewing on the cuticle of his thumb with the other while gazing ahead rather listlessly. He’d vanished again while she was preparing dinner. She had a brief impulse to check her old prescription meds in the bathroom.

“Mind if we watch some T.V. while we eat?” She moved to sit on the couch, stopped. “Can I get you something to drink? We have water and orange juice. And Schraderbrau. That’s Hank’s homebrew. There’s a fresh batch cold in the fridge if you’re interested. I’m not that big of a beer drinker and even I can tolerate the stuff if that says anything.”

“Yeah…I’ll have one,” Jesse said.

It wasn’t until she fixed her cucumber water and grabbed a bottle of Schraderbrau from the bottom shelf of the fridge that she realized she’d just offered a drug addict alcohol. Playing take-backs seemed a bit silly after that sales pitch of hers. So she gave the beer to Jesse anyway and started rehearsing excuses for why he couldn’t have a second as she settled down on her usual side of the sofa.      

“Thanks,” he said with a nod.                                             

She nodded too and clicked on the television. Casting him a wary glance, she thumbed through her pre-recorded shows on the DVR and keyed up the most recent episode of _The Bachelor_.

“I know it’s misogynistic and idiotic and maybe scripted. Plus the guy in this season has sort of a funky hairline. But it’s one of my few guilty pleasures so try not to judge me too hard,” she said. “I’m pretty diligent about deleting the episodes once I watch them so don’t rat me out to Hank either.”

Marie looked like an absolute klutz fumbling her chopsticks nearly over the edge of her bowl, snatching them up just in time, and she wanted to believe Jesse winced at the thought of the lasting effects of soy sauce stains and not at her inappropriate phrasing.

She turned up the volume and tried to zone out. Trashy stuff like this made that pretty easy. She could turn off her brain and focus on issues like the legitimacy of Tiffany’s supposed friendship with Amber and whether Kelly would blab about Melissa’s ex-con former flame who she was keeping secret from Jeff. Solidarity meant nothing in a horde of women all competing for one man. It was estrogen-fueled, ugly, promiscuous anarchy. She kind of loved it.

Marie was so wrapped up in cat-fighting and alliance hopping that she’d practically inhaled her dinner. Her program was hardly halfway over and the contestants were competing to see who could create Jeff’s perfect date-night outfit with the men’s department of Neiman Marcus at their disposal. The winner was guaranteed an elegant one-on-one dinner in Vegas.

“Who on earth pairs navy with black?”

She was speaking mostly to her television, taking in another hearty pinch of sautéed carrots and celery from her chopsticks, and idly trying to recall if she still had any mango sorbet left in the freezer.

A heated tug of war was developing by the necktie display.

“ _Ooh_ Naomi and Angel _hate_ each other,” she said.

Jesse cleared his throat. “Uh…who?”

The screen showed women scampering about blazers and slacks and waistcoats like a mass of scantily dressed ants. She had no idea where they’d scuttled off to.

Marie made a flippant gesture with her hand. “Well they all do really.”

“The tall like dark haired one seems sort of nice or whatever,” he said.

Of course he picked the one Goth chick out of the bunch. Though she _was_ rather kind for the most part. She also wore a criminal amount of dark lipstick and those corset tops that needed to _stay_ dead and buried in their ‘90s graves.

“That’s Jenn,” Marie said. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Too many tattoos for my taste. She used to be a stripper. Oh, and I think a tattoo artist too at one point too. How’s that for multi-talented?”

“The uh…beer’s really good. He should like sell this stuff.”

Marie peeked over at Jesse. It didn’t look like he’d touched his food at all. Maybe it was from staring at the television for too long, but there was this tenderness in his features now that she hadn’t seen before. His eyes were almost watery and it made the blue color stand out brighter than the HD resolution flat screen Hank was keeping tabs on from Best Buy.

“You have very pretty eyes for a man,” she said.

Jesse dropped his chin a little in a sheepish gesture that looked out of place for someone who’d seen the things he claimed to have witnessed. He took a slug of his beer and seemed to check if she was still looking at him. She was and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.  

“Thanks.” He sniffed. “I like…your slippers.”

She instinctively wiggled her toes against the plush, full-support insoles and smiled stiffly. Darting her attention back to the screen, she made a firm decision to try to keep her mouth shut for the duration of _The Bachelor_.

Not more than five minutes later that annoying insurance ad with the duck came on.

“If Hank asks, we watched two episodes of the first season of _Deadwood_ and I drank your Schraderbrau.”

Jesse made a vague humming noise. Marie plopped in a mouthful of tangy chicken.

She didn’t say a single word until all of the roses were distributed. Lauren, the leggy blonde with the nonprofit philanthropy backstory was sent packing.

Marie erased the episode, collected her dishes, and was almost startled to realize Jesse was asleep.

His head was propped against the back of the chair. The bowl in his lap was empty though the beer held loosely in his hand wasn’t quite. Setting her things down on the coffee table, she gingerly lifted the bottle.

Jesse rubbed his forehead into the zebra pattern before going slack again, and she snatched the bowl quickly enough not to provoke any movement out of him before adding it to the coffee table. She grabbed her lilac throw blanket from the sofa and draped it over his chest. It was kind of remarkable how small he looked.

She heard the front door and turned just as Hank was trudging inside, appearing weary but perhaps a little more hopeful than he had earlier.

“Hey,” he said, walking close enough and staying put so she could kiss his cheek. “Everything go alright here? Kid didn’t try anything, did he?”

“No. It was pretty uneventful. We watched two episodes of _Deadwood_ before he conked out. Are you hungry?”

“Me and Gomie picked up burgers while we were out,” Hank said. He eyed the Schraderbrau in her hand. “That for me?”

Marie had forgotten she was still holding it.

“It’s an old one from last night. I was actually in route to the recycling bin.”

Hank shrugged and took it from her. “Still got a couple of sips left.”

She flinched as subtly as she could manage as he slugged down the rest of the dregs, involuntarily musing if Jesse was one of those excessive backwash types.

Marie purposefully hadn’t asked Hank how his evening went. She didn’t want to be back in the real world just yet.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” Hank said. He placed the bottle down, peering over his shoulder once he’d reached the other end of the room. “What’s up?”

She jerked her head towards Jesse and lowered her voice. “Should we leave him here?”

“What?” Hank squinted. “Marie, you want to invite him to bed with us?”

“Hank, don’t be gross,” she said with a scowl. “I just meant he’ll hurt his neck if he sleeps like that.”

Hank passed a hand down the back of his scalp. “So you want me to carry him bridal style into the guestroom?”    

“No, I”—

“Goodnight, Marie,” he said.

She watched Hank round the corner for the stairs and slightly fumed while she picked up all the bowls, rinsed everything off, and filled the dishwasher. Once the thing was sloshing and churning, she let out a deep breath and pictured her brain as a chilled, creamy, low-glycemic cup of mango sorbet before she toed back into the living room.

Jesse was still in the same position.

She tugged the blanket further up to rest on the tops of his shoulders.

While it was an entirely insipid train of thought, she figured Jesse was the closest thing to a fought-after Ralph Lauren necktie from the men’s department of Neiman Marcus that she had in her life. Though it was Hank and Walt struggling for control here, not a couple of bimbos seeking their fifteen seconds of fame.

She and Hank had Jesse now, and the tape, and the confession. They possessed the upper hand. They were going to get the bastard. They won.


End file.
